The Tills doesn't have to steal, but she does anyway.

Remember the time I took Cole to the Disney Store, and he stole a stuffed Bambi?  This story is sort of like that, except not at all, because my daughter doesn't have to resort to stealing. 

She just intimidates me until I cave.

The Tills and I were out shopping at the mall during the couple of weeks I needed to keep her home from school after her tonsillitis. 

Oh right.  It's not lost on me that I just said I was supposed to keep her home, yet went to the mall.  Two weeks is a long time.  And one of the best things for tonsillitis is shopping at J. Jill.  It says so on the internet.

Anyway, we went to a mall that I don't go to often. I parked right near the Disney Store.

Right there.  The game changer. And so early. . .I had no clue.

The thing about the Tills is that she's a great kid.  Great as in, tough.  She likes what she likes.  Not because it's what other little girls (or boys!) like.  Not because you surround her with 'it'.  Not because you tell her to. 

The Tills likes her peas in ranch dip.  That's just how it is.  She likes wearing socks on her hands and playing house with toy dinosaurs.  She must have her bottom sheet on top, her waffles with honey, not syrup, and until now. . .she was completely pleased playing with her hand-me-down boys toys. We loved that. 

Except somewhere, somehow it's changed.  Boy toys won't do.  Somewhere between begging for the hotwheels car with the purple racing flames and to sleep with her leaf collection, it's changed.  And it we've gotten in so deep, I don't think we're heading back anytime soon. 

Princesses.  Princesses are what's cool now.  Disney princesses.  Not just any old Disney character. . .princesses.  Princess movies and clothes and dolls and shoes and hair thingys and gummy treats at the grocery store.  Princess water bottles and vitamins and toothpaste.  Princess socks and tee shirts and pillows and pillow cases.  All of it.  All of the time.

And guess what? I give in.  She's so gosh darned cute when she's hugging her new princess, talking about princesses, and pretending to be a little princess, that I just melt and get something else silly.

We've got about 40 princess dolls.  So many that most are put away in storage.  We have princess dresses for dress-up.  Shoes.  Headbands.  Wands.  Blankets.  Toothbrushes.  Nightlights.  Name it. We've got it. . . or I'm looking it up on Amazon right now.

A gaggle of princesses. . . .and it's getting worse.

So back to the Disney Store.  I parked near the store without realizing . . . and of course she wants to go in when we walked past.  And how could I say no?  She had just had surgery people!

They're having a sale.  Of course they are.  The window display is full of Barbie-height Disney dolls.  Did that confuse you?  Barbie Disney dolls.  Of all kinds.  Of all movies.  And here's the cool thing. . . they had villains and princes!  The bad guys!  The princes! Not just princesses. 

They had the 2nd heroes.  The bad guys' moms.  The dads.  You know? The dads that don't let their princess daughters choose who they want to marry?  Those dads. 

In fact. . .just to prove my point, I've made a collage for you of the dolls they had that day.

Do you see Ursula?  Beast?  Fairy Godmother? Even that whiny prince from The Little Mermaid?  I told Tills she could get any one she wanted. 

After all.  She'd lost a body part that week of my scheduling, I owed it to her.

And she wants Rapunzel.  RAPUNZEL.  The same Rapunzel that's on her pillow.  And in her bed.  And on her jacket.  Her hat.  Her dress.  In fact. . .she might have been wearing that dress that day.

I reminded Tills that she had a Rapunzel doll.  Actually, four.  And two were the same.  Okay, okay. . not exactly the same, but one was a Disney doll, the other Mattel.  And the difference between them?  The bust size. 

She says Rapunzel.

So I say, how about Ryder, the prince?  "Rapunzel."

How about the wedding Rapunzel?  "Purple Rapunzel."

"Tills, you have two of those."  "Rapunzel.  My throat hurts," she says much, much louder.

It's like, 10 a.m. on a Tuesday so we're the only ones in the store. Till's last demand for Rapunzel got the attention of the Disney cast (that's what they call them, you know. . .cast.) and they ask if we need help.

"No, don't need help.  We have this doll already and she wants another. I'm just trying to get her hooked on one of these other great dolls."

So how about Ursula? King Triton? The fairies from Sleeping Beauty? An extra outfit for Tiana? Anything. . . but. . .Rapunzel.

We take a stroll (or seven) around the store.  I'm try desperately to entice her to choose anything else.  I'm committed to purchasing something at this point.  Would you like a new dress?  "Yep, Rapunzel."  Damn it, Tilly!

"NO MORE RAPUNZELS! AND THAT'S FINAL."

[side note: why do you talk like that when you're a parent? "that's final?" What is that?  Who talks like that? How does that kind of stuff just infiltrate your brain as soon as you give birth?!?]

That last one really drew the attention of the cast.  Because, I think, one of the not-so-good-things-to-say-at-the-Disney-store, is something like. . .NO RAPUNZELS EVER AGAIN.  In so many words.

She starts to cry.  I almost do, too.  I take her over to the coats and ask her to choose one.  She's starting to love clothes lately (who is this kid?) and she needs one anyway, so I figure it'll change the subject.  She chooses the Rapunzel model.

Whatever.  In the cart.

As we head back to the checkout, we pass the pajama section.  She asks for a sleeping gown. 

"Sure, which one?"  "Rapunzel."

Whatever.  In the cart.

And don't you know. . . she 5-finger-discounted herself a purple Rapunzel doll from the display while we were at the checkout and rather than pry it out of her still-bruised-from-her-surgery-IV-hands, I paid for it and left.

Now we have three, 12 inch Rapunzel dolls.  Two larger, 24 inch Rapunzel dolls, and a stuffed one.  And that's just the inventory of Rapunzels.

And when we got home? Whilst I still hung my head in over indulging my child shame?  I went around the house and took pictures of all the silly princess junk we have collected over her short 2.9 years of life.  And made you a collage.

It seems I'm into collages lately.

If it doesn't look like too much, that's intentional.  I might have been selective when including what to take pictures of, so you wouldn't completely disown me.

...but see the two Rapunzels?  Can you tell which one is the Barbie?  Just look at that low-cut corset. 
What. A. Hussy.

No one believes you were up in that tower. . .all alone, missy.

Now Lightening McQueen? That's a stand-up guy.  You could learn a thing or two from him.

Let's just try and forget the last 141 days, okay?

Riiiiiight.

May 12th, eh?  That's like. . .uh. . .um. . .141 days from the last time I posted.  So there's no excuse for that.  The busy line won't cut it this time, huh? 

So let's start over.  You and me.  Me and you.  Let's try to put this all behind us and start anew.  Okay? Starting now. . .here's our update from the last third of our year.  *holding bloggy head in shame*

The kids are big.  I mean .. bi-heeehh-ig. They actually look like this.  They actually eat cheese sticks like this.  And they string them on their own!  Do you know how long I had to string the cheese for them?  It was like, at least 80 days.  If I'd been around, we'd have talked about it.

This picture is actually a fantastic representation of their little personalities.  Cole sizing you up from the shadows. . .the Tills right in front . . . ready to kick you in the shin at the first sign of her displeasure.  Oh, and she looks like a boy.  Her choice.

We ride bikes now.  Well, one of us rides our bike, the other pushes it around until they get tired of that. . .and then they start chasing the other of us that is still tryring to ride our bike.  We also like to wear our helmets in the bathtub.  And in the grocery store.  And when we go out to dinner.  To church. . .the doctor's office. . .

. . .but we don't usually like to speak in the 3rd person like that. . .that's creepy and I'll try to stop.

They aren't so easily detained anymore.  So, for example. . .when you've paid $8 at the country fair for a carousel ride and just before it starts to move. . .the kids feel like screaming and getting off?  Guess who's getting off?  Immediately.  Right now.  Because, man.  She can kick.

But...please note: I'm always, always thinking of you.  I always snap the shot before running to help.  And in this case?  I might have just waited a second or two to get a really good shot before helping Bill. 

There was a vacation at the beach in there.  Where we totally enjoyed ourselves as a family.  Just the four of us.  Liking each other almost all week.  Can you imagine?  Can you imagine if I actually remembered to put sunscreen on my nose one of these times? 

Cole and the Tills have really started to dig their own things.  Their imaginations grow every day.  And it's hysterical.  Like this time that the dinosaurs teamed up with the sea creatures and farm animals to totally kick the Lego's arses.  That one was epic. 

We've recently welcomed our first imaginary friend into the fold, too.  His name is Johnny.  And he tells Cole when he doesn't like what I've done to my hair.  As in, "Maaaaa?  Johnny wanted to tell you that he doesn't like your hair cut at dinner, but I told him that wasn't a good time."  Thanks Cole.  You're always thinking.

Johnny also doesn't like peas, baths, friends that don't share at school, pajamas, and the smell of mom's coffee.  I'd like to take this time to request any suggestions you might have on getting rid of imaginary friends as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

Johnny's running out of time.

And really? As much as I tried to fight it, the Disney princess thing took hold of my daughter.  Every. stinking. thing. in the world. must. be. Rapunzel.  Or purple.  Which she thinks has something to do with Rapunzel anyway, so it's one and the same.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you about the time I practically was robbed by a 2 year old at the Disney store.   Completely embarrassing. You'll enjoy it.

For now, we'll leave it that the Tills usually looks like this.  Or she's wearing her Red Sox hat.  There's no in between with this kid.  The best, though?  The dress with the hat.  Classic.  And usually comes with a dirty face of some sort. 

But really? Over the last 140 days?  They've turned into little people more and more.  Little people, who cry when the junior high girls won't play with you at the park. . .and need their daddy to explain it while sitting on the sidelines.

And little people. . who tell jokes to each other that you and I totally wouldn't understand. . .but that makes them barrel over with giggles. 

And little people. . .who have just as much fun with each other now as they do with us.  It's one of the most amazing things to watch.  When they make up a game together and somehow, they both know the rules. . .

. . .like the riding dad, half-naked game with dirty diapers. . . .that was a good one.

(Note: this is one of those times I run for the camera before I run to help.  In case you forgot!)

But every now and then. . . when they aren't thinking about dinosaur wars, princess shoes, and who will be their best friend today at school. . .they'll still goof off with me in the bread aisle at the grocery store.

I mean really. . .why on earth are their mirrors up there, anyway?